


Two Nerf Herders and a Twi’lek

by Joseph_B_Bergstrom



Series: In a Mirror Dimly [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Short, Star Trek: Enterprise AU, Star Wars AU, Very Little Happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joseph_B_Bergstrom/pseuds/Joseph_B_Bergstrom
Summary: Aside from aliens claiming to be gods (and other translation snafus,) first contact between the Galactic Republic and United Earth went well enough. It certainly went better thansomeof the first contacts Captain Dax Fonrui has been party to, (i.e. no one tried toeatthem.)But before Dax and his sole other crewmember head on their way, they manage to shake the politicians and diplomats to have a quiet drink in the 602 Club.A short sequel with some more caf, a little beer, a barmaid, and very little else.Read the first one first. . . . (Though that should be obvious.)
Series: In a Mirror Dimly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561918
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Two Nerf Herders and a Twi’lek

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to walk away from the concept, and leave it in the dusty, rarely-cleaned portions of my hard-drive, _but_. . . . Well, I just couldn’t—I was having too much fun writing these little pieces of . . . whatever they are.  
> Enjoy, and please leave a comment or critique!

# TWO NERF HERDERS AND A TWI’LEK

* * *

_Nlora System, (Sol System)_  
_Wild Space,  
_ _9 GS, (2150 AD)_

Dax Fonrui wasn’t sure he liked the taste of the locals’ caf. It was strong and bitter. The grinning man who’d handed it to him had promised that it could ‘float a horseshoe.’ Upon tasting it, he didn’t disagree, though he didn’t know what a horse was, or how much one of their shoes would weigh.

 _Barbarians,_ he thought to himself. _Ain’t they ever heard of putting nerf’s cream into caf?!_

Of course, they probably didn’t have nerfs. Still. . . .

Noticing the expression on his face, Dax’s host chuckled. “Starfleet Coffee,” the man who’d handed him the cup said. “We use it to strip paint off a hull.”

“Dear Maker, I don’t doubt it,” Dax responded, tentatively taking another sip. Bitter and strong it might be, it was still _caf_ , and he was nothing if not an addict.

The man chuckled again, before settling down behind his desk. The language barrier had been cracked easily enough . . . all things tolled. It was certainly smoother than _some_ of the First Contacts Dax had been party to.

_At least they didn’t try to eat us, like the Fabians._

‘ _Join the Exploratory Service! See the wild untamed frontier! Be the main course for xenophobic tribesmen!’_ He snorted at his own thoughts. _Well,_ he consoled himself, _at least the Senate pays us well to be eaten alive._

“I suppose I should get some things out of the way,” the man said. What was his name . . . ? For a moment Dax scrounged around in his caffeine-riddled mind. _Forrest._ _Admiral-ish bigwig guy._ “First of all, I should say that your arrival in our system has sparked some considerable _interest_ in the population—I don’t doubt that the newsies are running rampant.”

“Ah—that happens,” Dax said understandingly. “This your planet’s first first contact?”

Forrest chuckled at the repetition. “Not exactly,” he said. “In fact, the Vulcan consulate is frothing at the mouth to meet you as well. . . .” He grinned. “And let me tell you, Vulcan’s don’t get worked up easily. But I digress:

“No, this isn’t our first—” he chuckled “—first contact. We have official relations with two other alien worlds, and our boomers have been trading with tens of others. The reason I said your arrival sparked ‘interest,’ however, is that this is the only first contact we’ve been involved in—aside from the very first, with the Vulcans—where we _weren’t_ the ones initiating contact.”

“Ah, I see.” Dax shrugged. “And I’m sure the ‘newsies’ are frothing at the mouth because they want to know where we came from.”

“Exactly,” Forrest replied. The second thing I need to get out of the way—and I’ve been instructed to do so by the Prime Minister, directly—is to ask you just what your object is. So,” he smiled, “what is your mission, Captain Fonrui?”

Dax shrugged. “I’m a commissioned member of the Republican Exploratory Service, and the Service’s mission statement is the exploration and charting of Wild Space and the Unknown Regions.” He shrugged again. “We’re not part of an invasion—I don’t think you could get the Senate to agree to outlaw puppy-strangling, let alone to authorize an invasion.”

“I see,” Forrest said. “Well, that’s good news. I guess we don’t have to shoot you.”

“I’d advise against shooting people durin’ a first contact,” Dax said. “Tends to complicate the issue.”

***

All of the delights of Nlora—doubtful as some of them were—were laid before the feet of Dax and his crew. They were offered tours of ancient palaces, meetings with big muckety-mucks from every corner of the world, and asked to address Parliament.

“Nah, you can save all that for the diplomats from the Core,” Thim had drawled. “We’re just folks charting the not-so-wild frontier. Give us a little cash, and point us in the direction of a bar.”

The men who’d offered up the highest honors and delights of Nlora had been slightly miffed, but Admiral Forrest had laughed and pointed them in the direction of the nearest bar—after slipping them a handful of whatever they used for currency.

“Not a bad little planet,” Thim said, a mug of the local variety of beer in hand. “They didn’t eat us, and they make good beer.”

“I told you it was worthy of the name ‘Nlora.’ ” Dax belched companionably, a bottle of what was likely to become his favorite liquor in the known galaxy in his hand. _Caf-beer,_ he thought, _now there’s a combination I’d never thought of._

“Shut up.”

“Shut up?” Dax asked lightly.

“Shut up, _sir_.”

“Better.”

The two laughed. No one had told them they’d been coming—thankfully—and the 602 Club went right on ignoring the two spacers. Dax shuddered to think of what the locals would have done to them, had they known they had two alien explorers in their midst.

 _Roll out a red carpet, blow the fanfare, and offer up their virgin daughters, most likely,_ he thought. _I’m glad they’re a friendly bunch, but I think they don’t quite realize that_ we _’re not the diplomats they should be pampering._

The Republic—lethargic as it was—might take a year or two to get a proper diplomat out this far, but they were bound to do it sooner or later. An invasion might not be their exact goal, but the Senate was surely interested—mostly due to the Chancellor’s . . . _aggressive_ prodding—in expanding the Republic’s sphere of influence in Wild Space.

Truthfully, Dax was kind of apathetic about the Republic’s sudden exploratory drive. But charting systems for the Service kept him off of the deck of a freighter, and that was all that really mattered. Well, that and the job paying well.

 _It’d better pay well,_ Dax thought. _A man’s liable to fly into a star accidentally, in this line of work._

A pair of spacers—wearing those Starfleet-issue jumpsuits that served as uniforms—walked through the doors of the bar, and the crowd lifted their drinks and shouted a salute toward them. Dax had noticed that the bar was dominated by spacers, and that almost all of them were Starfleet officers or ratings.

“The Fleet’s hero!” the barmaid cried out in mock-awe. “Bow low, dear friends, he draweth near!”

Dax twisted in his seat, and was surprised to see Captain Robinson—it was not Robin _child_ , as the original translation had led him to believe—being slapped on the back by his comrades, while the man he’d come in with grinned.

“Anything the hero wants, he gets . . . for tonight, at least,” the barmaid announced. “It’s not every day one of our patrons makes first contact!”

Robinson glanced at the barmaid, grinning slyly. “ ‘Anything?’ ” he repeated. “How about you and me making ‘first contact’ when you get off tonight?”

“Behave yourself, A. G.,” the barmaid scolded, her expression not holding any real indignation or anger. “Go find a seat, and I’ll bring you and Jon a round.”

Robinson and his companion began threading their way through the bar, avoiding pulled-out chairs and laughing patrons. Dax lifted his mug in their direction. “Congratulations on talking with the aliens, Captain Robinson. I’m sure it was fraught with peril—I’m reliably informed aliens are a nasty bunch.”

Robinson blinked at them, obviously surprised to find them in his local watering hole. “Why thank you. It was touch-and-go there for a while—one of the aliens was under the delusion he was a god.”

Dax grinned.

“Of course, it _was_ a little lucrative,” Robinson admitted. “The Brass gave me and my crew shore leave as a reward.”

“Decent of them.”

The barmaid walked up, carrying a pair of mugs. “A. G., Jon,” she said in turn, handing them both their mugs. She glanced at Robinson’s companion suspiciously. “And don’t go thinking you’re going to be piggy-backing off of A. G.’s blank check, Jon—you’re paying for everything you drink.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon protested, grinning.

Obviously not convinced, the barmaid shook her head and went back to work. A. G. unfolded the napkin that had been wrapped around the handle of his mug. “Hah, told you,” he gloated.

“She didn’t _really_ say yes, did she?”

A. G. handed his companion the napkin as proof that the barmaid had agreed to try for a first contact, while he sat down at the same table as Dax and Thim. “Hadn’t really expected to see you here,” he commented to both of the explorers. “I was sure the Brass would be showering you with hospitality.”

“They gave us some cash and pointed us toward a bar—can’t get much more hospitable than that,” Thim responded, chuckling. There was a slight hesitation as the translator clipped to his collar put all of the words into the local Nloran dialect.

“Jon,” Robinson said, as his companion sat down, “I’d like to introduce you to Captain Dax Fonrui.” He grinned. “I just met him this morning.”

Dax smiled, taking Jon’s hand—some gestures seemed universal. “Well, consider us introduced,” he said.

Jon smiled. “Staying around?” he asked.

“Naw,” Thim said. “Figured we’d talk with your muckety-mucks, drink some beer, tell a few jokes, and be on our way.” He looked considering. “Speaking of jokes, gentles, have you ever heard the one about the two nerf herders and the Twi’lek?”


End file.
